Losing Something Twice
by RobotsMakeBetterLovers
Summary: Response to Severitus's Challenge. Harry, faced with early retirement from the Auror office, teaches Defense at Hogwarts. His world is turned around after a trip to the Headmistress's office and a look behind Dumbledore's portrait... Read and review!
1. Professor

DISCLAIMER: What is the name printed on the spine of the Harry Potter books? Rowling? Is my name Rowling? Enough said. I have used a few quotes from the books, and I didn't put quotation marks around them, because I don't like the way it looks, but they are all set apart and in italics. (You'll be able to tell what is a quote and what isn't.) So there. I don't claim to have written them.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a response to the Severitus Challenge. This is non-compliant with the Deathly Hallows Epilogue, because I really don't like (AND NEVER WILL LIKE) the whole Harry/Ginny concept. Also, in order to comply with the rules of the Severitus challenge, Lupin didn't die in Deathly Hallows. Thanks!

The final bell of the day sounded through the castle, and there was a general sigh of relief from the students and professors at the arrival of the long-awaited weekend. The sixth-year Gryffindors rose from their seats in their Defense Against the Dark Arts class, hurriedly packing up their things and leaving the room. Their professor looked after them agitatedly as he waved his wand at the chalkboard, which began erasing itself.

"Remember, class, practice those non-verbal spells! There might be a quiz on Monday… Class! Ah, bugger…" The weary professor gave up his warnings as a lost cause and let himself slacken onto the leather chair behind his desk, laying his cane on the desk's oaken surface.

The din of bells and chatting students died away to become a dull undertone in the corridors below him. He sighed and let a smile cross his face as he surveyed his classroom. _His_ classroom. He had sat in this room for Defense classes for six years, under six different instructors.

Quirrel. Lockhart. Lupin. Moody (_Well, almost Moody_, he thought). Umbridge. And Snape…

_Don't think about him now, _he told himself defiantly. He grabbed his cane from the desktop and stepped to his feet, too quickly. His bad leg connected with the open drawer in his desk, and he yelped in pain. _Damn hip! _he thought as he fell onto his chair once again. He glared at his leg, innocently stretched out between the seat of his chair and the floor. _If it weren't for you…_

The defeat of Voldemort had immediately relieved Harry Potter of the title "Undesirable Number One", and (as many had predicted) the Ministry was once again begging him to work for them. Having been slandered, cut down, hunted, and hated by the Ministry, Harry was not well-disposed to joining their ranks.

But if he didn't join the Ministry as an Auror, what would he do with himself?

Only slightly reluctantly, Harry began Auror training at the age of eighteen, finishing late because he had, unlike the other Auror apprentices, only six years of schooling to his name. Upon entering the Auror Office, he quickly made a name for himself as being among the best, to no one's surprise. He rose quickly through the Office until, when he was twenty-eight, he was appointed to be the Head of the Office.

Deciding that the pain in his knee had subsided sufficiently, Professor Potter slowly rose to his feet and steadied himself with his cane. He limped around the side of his desk and began working his way around the classroom, picking up scrap bits of parchment that hadn't found their way to the trash bin. Only when the classroom was tidy enough for his liking did he limp to his office.

Harry deposited a stack of papers to grade into the basket on his office desk. He would grade those this weekend, whenever he found time, but not now. He crossed to the mirror that hung on the other side of the room and let his hair down from the loose ponytail that held it behind his shoulders.

During the year that might have been his seventh year at Hogwarts, he, on the run with Hermione and Ron, had not paid much attention to his appearance. The war was over by the time his eighteenth birthday rolled around, and Harry had cleaned up his appearance somewhat. His hair, however, still hung in shaggy curtains around his face. Mrs. Weasley offered to cut his hair for him, and so Harry took his place on a chair in front of her while she aimed her wand at his unruly hair.

"Just a second," he had said, wrapping his arms about his head as a shield. "Let me just…look at it a minute." He wasn't sure what made him have second thoughts about shearing off his long hair, but he jumped out of the chair and ran to the mirror, where he assessed his appearance. His reflection looked strange; almost as if someone else's reflection was trying to shine from beneath it. His face, with long hair… It reminded him of someone.

"I'm keeping it," he said. "Just even out the ends a bit, Molly."

Molly gave him a pained look and tried to protest, but did as he asked. And so, since his eighteenth birthday, Harry had kept curtains of shoulder-length, black hair.

Harry brushed his hair back from his face, revealing his lightning-bolt scar. He shook his head, looking at it.

"You've gotten me into so much trouble, do you know that?" he asked it. The scar was proof of his identity; with it, no one could possibly mistake that they were talking to Harry Potter himself.

That, in itself, had proved to be a slight problem.

The Auror Office had received a tip-off that a small group of old Death Eaters were hiding out in Edinburgh, planning another uprising of Dark magic. Harry personally assembled a group of his best Aurors to find the little assembly and bring them in.

He hadn't expected the group to be among Voldemort's most depraved disciples. When his team blasted apart the door onto their gathering, they immediately exploded into action, screaming and firing bizarre curses in every direction. Eventually, with minimal injury, his team had gained possession of all wands in the room, and Harry was about to tie the Death Eaters up and call it a job well done.

He just had to brush the hair out of his eyes first…

One of the Death Eaters caught sight of his scar. She raised a trembling hand to point at him and shrieked, "_HIM!_" Harry raised his wand in defense, and just as quickly the woman drew a silver dagger from within her robes and hurled it in his direction. Harry opened his mouth to cast a Shield Charm –

_Bellatrix Lestrange – a silver dagger slicing through the air – Dobby – the stars – the grave – free elf…_

The dagger ripped into his hip, and Harry screamed, losing his balance. Someone tied up the Death Eaters and took them back to the Ministry, but Harry needed the hospital, the pain was blinding him…

A stab in the leg, to the St. Mungo's Healers, is usually a relatively simple matter. Harry, however, stayed in bed for a week, his hip bleeding persistently. The wound refused to heal.

The Healers finally identified that a curse had been applied to the dagger to prevent the wounds it inflicted from healing. After another week in the hospital, Harry's hip was no longer bleeding, but the internal damage could not be fixed. He would walk with a troublesomely crippling limp for the rest of his life.

Thus, Harry retired from the Auror Office at the age of thirty.

Professor Harry Potter loosened his tie and turned from his reflection. It was time for a well-deserved cup of coffee; this had been a long day. He hobbled to the door, cast an appraising glance around his office, and left for the staffroom, closing the door quietly behind him.


	2. Portrait

Harry staggered into the staffroom and lowered himself into a chair, returning various greetings from his fellow professors as he did so. He relaxed into his seat, closing his eyes against the general chatter of the room. His chair was just two places away from the window, and he could feel a warm breeze blowing gently from the wall to his left.

"Coffee, Harry?" Harry opened one eye to see who was speaking; Neville, across the long table, was holding two mugs, one already steaming.

"That'd be great, Neville, thanks." He opened the other eye and straightened up to accept his cup. He took a sip as Neville sat down across from him.

"Hell of a day, huh? You look tired, Harry." Harry shook his head darkly and quivered a finger at Neville as he waited for the coffee to go down.

"I had a double third-year class today," he said finally. "They're all in a panic because Oded Patil broke up with Carla Robinson. I couldn't keep order." Neville looked astounded.

"Is that what they're on about? God, I thought someone had been killed or something… I couldn't figure out what they were talking about, but then again I was pretty busy today; something strange happened to the sprinkler system in Greenhouse One… Oded – is that Parvati's or Padma's son?"

Harry shook his head. "I can't tell. Maybe Padma's; he's in Ravenclaw, after all…"

"Mind if I join you?" Harry and Neville looked up from their conversation just as Remus Lupin sat down next to Harry, stirring a sweet-smelling tea in his mug and laying a stack of essays on the table.

"Not at all," said Neville as Harry moved his cane to give Lupin more room. "Harry and I were just discussing the various fascinating disturbances in the lives of thirteen-year-olds." Lupin chuckled and took a docile sip of tea.

"I noticed that, too," he said, leaning back in his chair, "but I was much more interested in the unrest among the fifth years. You should have seen the way Angie Ballew was glaring at me when I --"

A black and silver tabby cat leapt onto the table between the three men and relaxed luxuriously onto Lupin's papers. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Hello, Minerva," he said scratching her behind the ears. She glanced at him disparagingly and twitched her tail irritably at him.

"I would prefer if you treated me a bit more like a human, Potter," she said, though she smiled teasingly as she did. "I would like to see you in my office, if you have a minute."

"Of course," Harry said. He gulped the rest of his coffee and prodded himself to his feet with his cane. He tossed a short wave at Neville and Remus, and Minerva leapt from the table, changing back to human form mid-jump.

"We can take the fireplace if you like, Harry," she said, indicating Harry's bad leg. He shook his head.

"I'm fine Minerva; I think walking does me good." She shrugged and led the way out of the staffroom toward the Headmistress's office. They walked in comfortable silence, and Harry gazed out of the windows they passed at the expansive grounds. Most of the students were outside, taking advantage of the warm May weather. Some were cooling their feet in the lake. Harry could see four students lounging on the grass surrounding the beech tree near the lake. That was the same beech tree where he, Ron, and Hermione spent many spring afternoons studying, talking… That was where Ron and Hermione had told him, after Dumbledore's funeral, that they would stay with him on his journey to defeat Voldemort…

"Uluru." Harry looked up to realize that he and Minerva had reached the stone gargoyle guarding her office, and that the gargoyle was stepping aside to let them pass. They rose in spirals up the moving staircase, and ended outside her office. She held the door open for him, and he shuffled to the chair on the visitor's side of the desk. She took her seat on the other side and watched him concernedly as he arranged himself for best comfort in the chair.

"How are you doing, Harry?" He tore his eyes away from the snoozing portrait of Albus Dumbledore behind her and looked into her troubled face.

"I'm fine."

She sighed. "I mean… I know it must be hard for you, having this job when you really just want to be an Auror." Harry's heart sank. So that's what she meant… He averted his eyes from hers, focusing instead on the portrait of Severus Snape. Unfortunately, Snape was absent, leaving nothing but an empty black chair. He put his elbows on the desk and leaned onto them.

"Minerva, it's been five years since I left the Auror Office. I was successful while I was there, and now… I've moved on to something else. I love teaching Defense. I always did. You remember Dumbledore's Army, don't you?" In his peripheral vision, Harry thought he saw the tiniest of smiles tilt the corners of Dumbledore's mouth, but when he glanced at the old professor his face was smooth with slumber once again.

"You just seem…" Minerva began, looking earnestly at Harry. She had his best interests at heart, he knew. She had always been kind to him. Still, she was an aging woman, and he had no desire to worry her in the least.

"…subdued. Troublingly so."

Harry reached across the desk and took one of her slender hands in his.

"I take care of myself, Minerva. I promise."

She opened her mouth to argue, but a sharp tapping sound drew her attention to the window. A handsome tawny owl was there rapping viciously on the window, obviously convinced of the importance of its business. Minerva huffed, but rose from her seat and let the owl in. It dropped its envelope on 

the desk and flounced back through the open window. Minerva tore open the envelope with her wand and skimmed its contents.

"Oh dear, they want to do that _today_? Ugh, and I suppose I must attend…" She looked up from the letter at Harry, sighed, and then dropped it into the wastebasket. Crossing the room to collect her travelling cloak and hat, she said, "The board of school governors wants to have a meeting regarding the 'revision of school curriculum'. Silly, nitpicky little details. I'm sorry to leave you hanging like this, but I have to go…"

She stopped on her way out the door and eyed Harry carefully. After a moments' silence, she sighed.

"Goodbye, Potter."

"Goodbye, Minerva."

The door shut briskly behind Minerva McGonagall, and Harry was left alone in the Headmistress's office. Harry stood up and gazed around at the portraits covering the walls. Snape hadn't returned yet.

"_You ever thought of a career as an Auror, Potter?"_

"_No," said Harry, taken aback. _

"_You want to consider it," said Moody, nodding and looking at Harry thoughtfully. "Yes, indeed…."_

When Harry was forced to face defeat and take early retirement from the Auror Office, his world came crashing down around him. The dream he had built up since he was fourteen was extinguished, and nothing could possibly bring it back.

What else could he possibly do? He had been marked from birth as the one who could destroy Voldemort; wouldn't it make sense that he should dedicate the rest of his life to destroying his followers? What else could Harry Potter do, if he wasn't an Auror?

He was told of the seriousness of his injury and also of the Ministry's decision to let him go as he lay in his hospital bed, waiting for his leg to heal. He was being visited at the time by his good friend and fellow Auror, Darcy, who had an arm behind Harry's shoulders as he sat next to him on the bed. Harry wanted to jump up, scream, smash the nightstand against the wall, trash the calm, sanitary, sunny room that encased his anguish, but he couldn't do even that. He couldn't run, jump, or anything but limp.

He could only moan from the hospital bed, grip the metal rods that made up the frame, allowing Darcy to silently brush the hair from his forehead. Why had he ever taken for granted the ability to walk briskly through the office? Why had he ever taken for granted the fact that he could do exactly what he wanted to do with his life?

The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the Great Harry Potter, stood in the Headmistress's office at Hogwarts with the help of a cane, despair washing over him as he thought for the hundredth time that he was utterly, irrevocably dissatisfied with the turn his life had taken.

And Minerva was worried that he was _subdued_.

Harry turned to leave, but stopped at the sound of a soft voice.

"She's a lovely woman, really." Harry looked over his shoulder, smiling.

"I knew you weren't asleep, Albus." Harry turned to face Albus again. "Why do the portraits in here always pretend to be asleep?" Dumbledore beamed down at him.

"Ah, but Harry, surely you know that eavesdropping is much more rewarding if those you are listening to don't realize they are being intruded upon!" Dumbledore said, looking gravely over his half-moon glasses at Harry. Harry laughed and limped around the desk to lean against the wall in between the smiling portrait of Dumbledore and the empty canvas belonging to Snape. Harry and Albus looked benignly out the window for several moments, savoring the glorious countryside together. Harry looked next to him at the side of Albus's frame. He was framed in ornately carved gold, and Harry took in all the details; the tiny curls and engravings, the sparkling gold tones in the sun, the hinges partially obscured by shadow…

Hinges?

_Snape approached the portrait of Dumbledore and pulled at its side. It swung forward, revealing a hidden cavity behind it from which he took the sword of Gryffindor…_

"Albus," Harry said stepping around so he could look Dumbledore in the face. "I just remembered your portrait is a door…" To Harry's surprise, Dumbledore's face tensed slightly. He smiled, his face softening once more.

"Yes, Harry. Why don't you have a look inside?" Harry stared at him.

"Are you sure it's not private…?" he said slowly.

"Well, it's my portrait, isn't it?" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Go on, Harry!"

Harry looked at him curiously for a second, then shrugged and pulled the side of the portrait forward. The hole was empty except for a tiny envelope pushed all the way to the back. He reached in and groped about until he found the envelope, and pulled it toward the opening. It was too heavy to just be a letter…

He held the envelope into the light to read the one word printed on it.

_Harry. _

His heart skipped a beat as he, with urging words from Dumbledore, slit open the envelope and emptied its contents onto the desk. A small, folded piece of paper fell out with a gold necklace. Harry picked up the necklace and immediately recognized it.

"A Time-Turner?" he said, looking at Dumbledore. "Why?"

"Read the note, Harry! Read it!"

Harry unfolded the bit of parchment and adjusted his glasses on his nose in order to read the spiky, cramped handwriting.

_You'll need to go back eighteen years, so turn it quite a few times. You will be expected. _

_SS_

Harry looked at the Time-Turner, his heart racing. What was going on, eighteen years ago, here at Hogwarts?

_The war was almost over… Hogwarts was teaching the Dark Arts… Snape was Headmaster…_

_SS?_

Harry looked once again to Dumbledore, who was watching him intensely.

"Whenever you're ready, Harry," he said, pressing his fingertips together and looking over them, the way he always did.

"I think I'll go now, Professor." Harry picked up the Time-Turner and laced it around his neck. Picking up his cane, he steadied himself, and then spun the Time-Turner. It turned over again and again, and Harry kept spinning it, until in his mind he felt that it was enough. And then the office dissolved before his eyes.


	3. Father

He was flying through spinning shapes, vibrant colors, backwards through eighteen years of past. _Just like third year, _he thought, _except in third year we only had to go back a few hours, not nearly two decades…_

The floor rose up to meet his feet, and his knees buckled as he found his place in time. Pain shot down his bad leg; he jammed his cane against the floor and grabbed the arm of a nearby chair for support. He waited for a moment until his breathing evened out, at which point he looked up at his surroundings.

He was in the Headmaster's office, leaning on the chair that he had vacated only a few minutes ago. He turned unsteadily to take a seat, hardly daring to look at who sat in the Headmaster's chair. Once he had situated himself in his chair and leaned his cane against its arm, he looked up.

Severus Snape leaned against his desk, his hands folded delicately in front of him, staring at Harry intently. Harry felt a pang of grief; the last time he had seen this man…

_Snape's white face -- fingers trying to staunch the bloody wound at his neck – "Look…at…me…."_

Harry was seized by a rush of compassion for Snape. Snape, who had saved his life more times than he knew. Snape, who had sacrificed everything for Harry, no matter how much he was like James…

"How old are you, Potter?" Snape asked, disrupting Harry's thoughts. Harry was caught off guard for a moment; he was summoned into the past by a note left by Snape, just to be asked how old he was?

"I'm thirty-five," he said, eyeing the man in front of him, who nodded slightly. Snape bent over his desk and wrote on the parchment there.

_eighteen years, so turn it quite a few times. You will be expected. _

_SS_

Snape looked at the parchment for a moment before folding it neatly in half. He slid it into a tiny envelope and picked up (Harry's heart jumped slightly) a glittering Time-Turner, which he also deposited into the envelope. He sealed the envelope, wrote Harry's name on it, and stood up.

Once the envelope was in the hidden cavity where Harry had found it, Snape turned to face Harry once more, remaining standing. He looked down at Harry with the gentlest, most caring look Harry thought was possible from the man. Harry stared back, unsure what to feel or think.

"You needed to see me…Severus?" When he said the name, Severus's concentration seemed to break, and he regarded Harry curiously for a moment before resuming his seat. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but quickly closed it again, averting his eyes from Harry's.

"I don't know where to begin…" he said, examining his fingernails. "You must understand – what I need to tell you, I could never have told you while you were in school, or even now, as you see me an enemy. I assume that I was able to pass Dumbledore's message on to you?" Harry nodded, gazing concernedly at Severus. "Good. You see, I thought it would be wise to leave a message for you in the future, in 

hopes that you had survived the war. I'm happy to see you were successful. I, however, have thought for more than a year that there was no way I could possibly survive. I feel that, for me, the end is coming swiftly. That is why I want to tell you this now."

Harry could not think of anything else Snape could possibly have to tell him; so much had been revealed in the memories he gave to Harry, that Harry couldn't imagine there could be another secret Snape had to impart with him.

"Does it have to do with my mother?" Harry ventured, shifting in his seat. Severus nodded.

"It has…quite a bit to do with your mother." Snape leaned forward across his desk until their faces were a little more than a foot apart. "Harry, James Potter is not your father…"

Harry knew what would come next. Severus had not even hinted at it, and Harry knew. In a way, it made more sense. It didn't seem right that his father would be the kind of person who might dangle someone upside-down for fun, pick on someone for _existing_, mess up his hair to make it look like he had just gotten off of a broomstick. His father would be someone with powerful emotions who had been abandoned, like he had... Someone who was given huge responsibilities when they least felt like they could handle it…

"…I am."

Harry released a sharp breath and looked into Severus's face, part of him hoping it was true, part of him wishing he would wake up and it be a dream.

Snape – his _father_?

"But… I mean, everyone's always told me… How did I not know until now? Does anyone know?" Harry absorbed Snape's face into his mind; if it was true, he didn't ever want to forget his real father's face…

Snape furrowed his brow. "Only I, Lily, James, and their closest friends knew. They thought that if the fact was widely spread, the Dark Lord might hear about it, and that he would try to use me to get to you. It was for your safety, and also for the simple fact that I wasn't the one to marry Lily." At that last comment Severus inhaled deeply, giving the desktop an irritated look. His long, black hair fell in front of his face, and he brushed it behind his shoulder. Harry gasped.

"My hair!" he said, looking intently at Severus's. Severus looked startled.

"What about your hair?"

"I – when I was eighteen, I decided to keep it long, and since then I've thought that I looked kind of odd… I mean, when I looked in the mirror I looked like someone else, but it was you! I look more like you, now, and I never noticed it until my hair was long!"

Severus studied Harry's face for a moment, and then smiled nervously.

"Yes. Maybe you do." Severus reached out and placed an awkward hand on Harry's arm. "My son…"

Harry tried to speak, but couldn't find the words. All those years, he had hated Severus. He had hated the man who was actually his father. When Harry had finally learned Snape's whole story, he was infinitely grateful for all that he had done, and he realized that without that man whom he had hated for so many years, Harry would have died. He would have died long, long ago.

_And now that man was his father. _

"You were incredible," Harry said finally. He looked at Dumbledore's portrait to make sure he wasn't there before saying, "you know, people talk about Dumbledore a lot, and how great he was, and how wonderful he was. Dumbledore was a great man, and he died a hero. But you…" A look of wonder came across Severus's face as Harry said this. "The entire war has rested on your shoulders, and you have done so much. I couldn't have done any of this without you. You are a war hero if there ever was one, but still everyone thinks you're an enemy. It takes a lot to be a hero to people, like Dumbledore; it takes so much more, though, to keep on going even when you're everyone's enemy."

Severus's eyes were wide, and he gazed at Harry with utter amazement, who continued to speak.

"After all that you've done, I am so proud to be your son."

There was a long silence in which the two men simply stared at one another, analyzing, at a loss for what to do next. Severus's face had softened into a fond look.

"Thank you, Harry. Thank you so much."

Both men rose in unison on either side of the desk. Harry didn't pick up his cane, but used the desk for support as he edged toward Severus, who walked around to meet him. Severus placed his hands on Harry's shoulders, and they looked at each other for a moment. Harry pulled Severus toward him, and they embraced.

Harry sighed and relaxed against him, his father, his only remaining family. Severus wrapped his arms around Harry's back, squeezing Harry into him as if he would never let go; he held him as if he would keep Harry safe there as long as he could keep holding on.

_His father._

As they stood there, Harry realized what he was to Severus; Severus had no family, had never been married. The one woman who had shown tenderness for him was now dead because of his own misguided actions. He had nothing. But that one woman, the only one he had ever loved, had borne him a son. The last incontestable proof that Lily Evans had lived and died was held in Severus's arms, resting on his shoulder with nothing but compassion for him.

The air was quiet. Although he faced away from the window, Harry knew that the sun was setting over the mountains now; orange shafts of light glowed from the western window, dust swirling in soft spirals through the rays, ending in squares of light angled against the wall. The office was beautiful, and Severus was delicately smoothing his hair down his back…. Did moments like these have to end?

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Severus said softly, laying his hand on the back of Harry's head. "I wished you could be mine so badly, I've wished it all along. Of course, that wasn't possible…. I tried to distance myself from you, trying to think and act toward you as if you were any son of James Potter. But it's been there, all this time, my love for you as my son, and Lily's son…. I'm so sorry –"

"Ssh," Harry said. He leaned his head against Severus's. "I know. I know and I forgive you. You've done more than make up for it in my eyes, and I'm sure that's what Lily would say, too." Severus pulled away from him a little so he could look into Harry's face. After a moment he smiled, a small, tentative smile that made it plain that his mouth rarely had the opportunity to such things. He hugged Harry once more, and Harry could feel from Severus's cheek that he was still smiling.

"Thank you so much, Harry…."

"No," Harry whispered. "Thank you."

"I believe someone's coming," said a quiet voice from behind the desk. Severus and Harry looked up to see that Albus had returned, and that he was gazing down at them with a curious expression on his face. "I can hear someone coming up the staircase, and it is my presumption that it would be advisable that Harry is not present when they arrive."

Severus stepped back from Harry and looked him up and down quickly, sighing.

"Harry," he said, looking concernedly at his son. He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice caught. They looked at one another in pained silence, green eyes boring into the black, unspoken words flashing across their minds, wishing for time they didn't have….

There were five brisk knocks on the oaken door, and they could hear the scuffling of feet on the other side. Severus glanced at it fearfully and then back at Harry, who was picking up the Time-Turner that rested against his chest. Severus placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. Their eyes met solidly; the last time that would ever happen, for Harry….

"Good luck." Severus took his hand from Harry's shoulder and let it fall hesitantly at his side. Harry looked at the glittering Time-Turner in his palm, then back at Severus.

"Goodbye….dad."

He spun the Time-Turner in his hand and saw briefly Severus reach out to touch him one last time. He would be left with nothing in his hand but the golden air where his son had been, the same air in which Harry stood, eighteen years in the future, crying out in pain as his cursed leg buckled beneath him.


	4. Whisper

Harry's leg gave way beneath him, and he fell to the floor, panting. The agony in his leg kept him on the floor for a few minutes, facedown in the dusty carpet. Finally he pushed himself into a sitting position and waited for his hip to calm down.

Severus Snape, his father. Harry leaned his head against Minerva's desk and closed his eyes, thinking about this. Snape was his father, and Harry had only just found out. He felt a rush of affection for Snape, who had protected him throughout his life, and had held him close just a few minutes ago. Harry had forgiven him a long time ago for how horrible he was during class; that kind of thing didn't seem to matter anymore. There were more important things about people to be considered.

_His father. _

The fact would be so hard to get used to. His father hadn't died that night in Godric's Hollow, his father wasn't James Potter, Snape was his only remaining family….

He reached up to grip the edge of the desktop and began pulling himself to a standing position. As his head passed the edge, he was able to see clearly the portraits of Dumbledore and Snape above Minerva's desk. Dumbledore regarded him curiously as he struggled to his knees. Snape's frame was empty.

Harry froze, staring at it. Severus's frame was of silver; nowhere near as ornate as Dumbledore's, and somewhat smaller, it was elegant and simple. He normally sat on a rounded Victorian chair, upholstered in black velvet, its mahogany arms curving gently on either side of him. The background was a row of dusty bookcases, books jammed against one another in an attempt to fit as many as possible into each shelf. Snape himself, however, was gone.

An icy feeling in the pit of Harry's stomach forced him back to the ground. He was wrong. Snape wasn't his only remaining family….

_Snape looked as though there was no blood left in him…something in the depths of the dark pair seemed to vanish…._

Harry let out a shuddering breath and covered his face with his hands. His father, his true father, was dead. As he stood with Snape in the Headmaster's office, clutching him to his chest, he hadn't thought of the fact that while he could hold his father in the past, there was still no one for him to look to as his father in the present.

But hadn't his father had always been dead to him? First James, now Severus….

But there had been a time when his father wasn't dead, a time during which Harry had hated him. The frosty core in Harry's stomach twisted as Harry realized how much time he had wasted, hating Snape, not knowing that the man he had wished for as a child and considered a symbol of strength stood at the front of the Potions dungeon, sneering down at him….

Harry forced himself to wipe his face on his sleeve, pick up his cane, and laboriously pull himself to his feet. Planting his despised cane on the ground, he hobbled to the door. He cast a backwards glance at the portraits behind the desk and quietly closed the door behind him, beginning the trip down the stone staircase. Severus's frame was still empty.

Harry limped into the staffroom, hardly noticing what was going on around him. He sat down once again at the end of the table and laid his cane across his knees. Resting his elbows on the table and leaning his head against his hands, he allowed the breeze from the nearby window to ruffle his hair and cool his face as he tried to calm his tangled thoughts.

"Harry?"

Harry looked up at the familiar voice. Lupin was standing across the table from him, a pot of coffee in one hand and a mug in the other. Harry opened his mouth weakly to respond but found he couldn't make any sound. He nodded instead and closed his eyes once more. For a moment he thought that Lupin had decided to leave him alone, because he didn't say anything else. But after a moment the chair to Harry's right scraped and he felt Lupin brush against him as he sat down.

_Only I, Lily, James, and their closest friends knew. _

Harry opened his eyes again and looked sideways at Lupin. _He must know_, Harry thought. He dropped his arms onto the table and looked fully at Lupin, who was watching him with a troubled look on his face. He raised an arm and arranged it carefully across Harry's shoulders.

"Is there something wrong, Harry?" he said, placing his coffee mug on the table. Harry glanced around to see who else was in the room. Filius Flitwick was chatting animatedly with Anaximander Anaxagoras of the Potions department, and Democritus Vector was just leaving. Thinking that Filius and Anaximander were sufficiently absorbed in conversation that he would not be overheard, he looked at Lupin wretchedly. Where should he begin?

Sensing his distress, Remus reached into his jacket and pulled out a large, square object wrapped in foil. Tearing a corner of the foil and breaking off a chunk of the object within, he offered it to Harry. It was chocolate. Harry smiled weakly and bit into it. After a short silence, Harry looked at Lupin once again.

"I just found out that Severus was my father," he whispered, his voice cracking. Lupin gazed at him for a moment, and then nodded, smiling slightly.

"Yes, Harry," he said. "I'm sorry you didn't know until now..." Harry explained how he had taken the Time-Turner eighteen years into the past, where Snape was waiting for him, waiting to tell him, finally, the truth.

"It was so wonderful," Harry said, "to stand there with him. I could feel it, you know? I could feel that he really cared about me, and then when I came back, it was just…." He put the last bit of chocolate in his mouth and chewed for a moment before continuing. He breathed deeply, wanting to retain his composure for Lupin. Finally, he whispered, "When I came back I realized that I still didn't have a father. 

I had hugged him just a minute before, but that didn't change anything. He still wasn't there. I mean, I'm thirty-five years old…. I don't exactly need my parents anymore. But I lost them a long time ago, and it felt like – maybe – I was making up for something. And then he was gone. It was….it was like losing something twice, you know?"

Lupin was quiet for a moment, choosing his words as he absorbed what Harry had told him. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision, and after taking a sip of coffee he looked Harry directly in the face, amber eyes meeting green in an earnest stare.

"I know you were never close to Severus, Harry. I know that he was unfair to you during class, and that you never really liked him…."

"I hated him!" said Harry, his eyes stinging.

"I know," Remus said softly, placing his free hand on Harry's arm. "I know, but do you know what he told me?" Harry shook his head, breathing hard. "He was so proud of you. He saw everything that you accomplished, all the dangers you faced, and he was so proud to be your father. I know you didn't see him as a father, but as long as you knew him you had a father looking after you and loving what he was seeing."

"But I hated him, Remus," said Harry. "He was right there, the whole time, and I never got to know him! I wasted all that time hating him…." Remus held up a hand to stifle him.

"What else could you have done, Harry? He was horrible to you, and you didn't know he was your father. Don't blame yourself for hating him." By this time Filius and Anaximander were looking concernedly down the table at Remus and Harry, and Remus smiled gently at them and waved silently. Filius whispered something to Anaximander, and they both stood up and left the room, closing the door quietly behind them. Harry watched them leave, and then took the opportunity to raise his voice slightly.

"If you're going to tell me to blame him for that --"

"No, I'm not. He couldn't have acted any different to you if he wanted to keep up his act as a Death Eater. How would it have looked to Voldemort if he was suddenly nice to Gryffindors when Harry Potter showed up? I'm not blaming anyone for the way things turned out between you; I just don't want you to blame yourself." Harry buried his head in his arms, and Lupin had to lean forward to hear his words.

"He needed so much, and I was right there. I could've helped him so much. If I had just known…."

"That's over, Harry," Lupin said. "Don't carry regrets like that. It'll eat you alive, believe me." Harry sat up and looked at Lupin, thunderstruck.

"Don't carry regrets?" he said bitterly, his voice rising. "I hated my father, I can't stand my job, good people that I loved and looked up to have died for my mistakes, and you tell me not to carry regrets?" 

Harry shook Remus's arm angrily from his shoulders and started to stand up, but was stopped by a bolt of pain in his leg.

Jamming his cane against the floor and hostilely rising from his chair, he said, "And I'm crippled! God damn it, what is this world trying to do to me?"

Harry staggered to the door and burst through it, scattering a knot of first years and stumbling down the hall. The door was left swinging unceremoniously on its hinges. Remus, abandoning all hopes of a relaxing evening, poured his cold cup of coffee into the sink and left the staffroom as well, closing the door gingerly behind him.


	5. Darcy

Harry fell into a panting heap on the grass. He waited for a moment until his heart calmed down, and then straightened into a sitting position and leaned back against a tree.

His feet had taken him to the edge of the lake, to the shade of the birch tree that had seen so many students come and go through the years. Harry gazed across the lake to the opposite shore and the emerald field that lay beyond. The sun was nearing the forest to his right, coloring the tops of the trees a sparkling gold. Harry closed his eyes and allowed its warmth to wash over his face.

"Having a nap, Harry?" Harry's eyes flew open and he looked wildly around to see the source of the voice. Darcy, his friend from the Auror Office, was seated on the grass next to him, watching him with a docile expression. Harry exhaled and leaned back against the tree once more.

Darcy was one of the best Aurors and one of Harry's closest friends at the Office. With a demeanor recalling both the dreaminess of Luna Lovegood and the polite formality of Nearly-Headless Nick, he (at first glance) did not seem like the kind of person one would expect to be successful as an Auror; he had, however, taken Harry's place as the Head of the Office, and as a former pupil of Alastor Moody's he was very highly respected.

Darcy was Harry's partner in the Office; they went together on every mission, and learned to operate perfectly together in order to capture Dark wizards and witches. They worked like clockwork. It was almost psychic, the way Harry knew just how much room to give Darcy when dueling, Darcy knowing exactly when to cover Harry's back. They operated seamlessly together, and grew to be close friends.

Darcy was the one who had carried Harry out of danger when he was stabbed, had Apparated to St. Mungo's, and had stayed by Harry's bedside for several days until forced to return to work.

"Hello, Darcy…. How are you?" Harry smiled sideways at Darcy, who sighed and gazed dreamily across the lake. It had been a while since they had last seen each other, and Harry missed smiling at the melancholy way Darcy raised his eyebrows, the wistful look that always pervaded his features. Having befriended Luna Lovegood a long time ago, he found the sort of expression she and Darcy often shared to be quite pleasant.

"It's been a bad week…. There was an attempted breakout at Azkaban, as I'm sure you've heard…." Harry nodded at this. "Mainly trouble with the Prophet, people trying to come in and talk to me about it, although I suppose Kingsley is getting it worse. I don't know…." Darcy shook his head slowly and Harry leaned his head back once more.

"It's been bad here, too, although nothing compared to what you must be going through. I remember the press all too well from my days at the Office." Darcy furrowed his brow contemplatively.

"You say that as if you're getting old, Harry."

"I feel like I am," Harry said. Darcy turned to face him, and though his absent expression gave no clues as to what he was thinking to anyone who didn't know him, Harry sensed concern and instantly regretted his words. "I'm fine Darcy; don't look at me like that." Darcy obeyed silently and looked out across the lake instead.

There was a minute's silence between them, and the two men surveyed the grounds, each absorbed in his own thoughts. The sun was setting properly now.

"You really want to go back, don't you?" Darcy asked suddenly, and without so much as looking at him Harry knew exactly what he meant.

"More than anything."

"Why?"

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, which he let out slowly and deliberately. "It's what I've wanted to do since I was fourteen years old. It's all I've ever wanted to do."

"Why?" This time Harry opened his eyes and looked at Darcy incredulously. Why was Darcy doing this to him?

"Well, that is what I'm here for, isn't it? Kill Voldemort, hunt down his followers…. And here I am, limping about a dusty classroom." Darcy merely shrugged.

"I think it's quite appropriate." Harry glanced angrily at Darcy, who wasn't looking at him. "A person should do what he can and not what he can't. Anything more is humanly impossible, isn't it…." Darcy sighed morosely, and neither man spoke for a while. The still air was punctured only by the faraway chirping of birds and the lapping of the lake.

"My sister's getting married."

Harry jumped at the sudden proclamation. Looking at Darcy, he mustered a weak smile. "That's wonderful." Darcy sniffed.

"No it isn't. I hate the man. But he's going to be my brother, isn't he?" Harry laughed, unsure of whether he would insult Darcy by doing so. Darcy smiled, however, and looked at Harry distantly. "I will try to think of him afresh. It does no good to linger on the past. Things that have come and gone…. They only exist as memories. Why dwell on something that isn't real? Psychologists have a word for that, I think. Some kind of insanity…." Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Perhaps you're insane, though," he said, cocking his head.

"Who is 'you'?" Darcy murmured.

"Me."

"Do you think you're insane, Harry?"

Harry smiled. "Sometimes." Darcy nodded.

"I thought you would say something like that." Darcy gazed absently at the lake, and Harry looked curiously at the side of his face.

"Darcy?" he ventured. Darcy twitched an eyebrow as a sign that he was listening. "Can I ask you something?" Darcy sighed at this.

"I have no control over your powers of speech, Harry. If you wish to ask me something, I'm afraid I am helpless to prevent it."

"That's not what I meant," Harry teased. "I meant – can I ask you for…advice?" Darcy turned his head slowly to look at Harry with mild interest.

"If you feel that I will be of any help, I suppose you may." Harry almost laughed. Every tiny statement was so complicated for Darcy.

"What do you do if," he began, biting his lip and struggling to think of how to phrase the question. "What do you do if you've wronged someone, and you have treated them unfairly, but there's no way you can make it up to them? If – maybe – you want to tell them that you're sorry but they're, er, unavailable?" Darcy stared at him, his face marked by a bland mystification.

"I'm not sure if I will be of much help, Harry, judging from the fact that I am ignorant as to the specifics of your situation…."

"Try!" Harry pleaded. Darcy looked down at the grass, lost in thought.

"Move on, I suppose. As long as you have always had pure intentions, there is nothing for which to apologize. I am certain that whomever you have wronged will understand…wherever they are." Harry sighed and leaned back against the tree. Darcy wasn't helping.

"I can't just move on –"

"Harry," Darcy interrupted, "the idea has just struck me that perhaps you are slightly disappointed to have killed Voldemort so long ago. You don't want him to be dead." Harry looked at him, incredulous.

"Are you kidding me? Of course I want him to be dead! What the hell do you think?"

"Yes, Harry, I know you're glad he's gone, but at the same time I think you are still struggling to decide what to do now. You feel as if your purpose has already been fulfilled."

"Well, under normal circumstances I would know exactly what to do. I would be an Auror," Harry said sarcastically, "but _obviously_ that isn't possible."

"How on Earth is an Auror more important than a Defense professor? Harry, Voldemort wasn't the only Dark wizard to have wreaked havoc on our community, nor will he be the last. The ones who will defeat the next one are students now, like you were then. Who taught you the things you needed to know in order to defeat him?"

"Dumbledore," Harry began, "but –"

"_Professor_ Dumbledore, Harry. A _teacher_. Aurors take care of the problems we are currently having, but they are powerless against the future. What spell did you use when you killed Voldemort?"

"I Disarmed him," said Harry quietly. Darcy looked at the clouds.

"And who taught you that spell?" Darcy asked calmly. Harry thought for a moment. How had he learned that spell?

_Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed…raised their wands like swords in front of them…Snape cried: _Expelliarmus!..._Lockhart was blasted off his feet…an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape…_

"Lockhart," Harry said. "And Snape."

"Your _teachers_, Harry."

Harry understood now. His students were the ones who would one day be facing the world; why should he, Harry, be an Auror when there was so much he had to teach them?

"_You think it's just memorizing a bunch of spells and throwing them at him, like you're in class or something?"_

"_Harry, don't you see? This is exactly why we need you…. We need to know what it's really like…facing him…facing Voldemort."_

Voldemort was long gone. But was killing him Harry's only purpose?

"The children you teach have a unique opportunity. You don't come across many teachers who have actually been out there, risking their lives and using what they had to learn. You are much more valuable in the classroom than you are in the Auror office, Harry."

The sun had set by now, leaving nothing but a periwinkle horizon, dissolving slowly into an inky night sky. Fireflies circled around them lazily, dancing with the starlight. The lake was still.

Harry looked across the vast lawn, squinting. In the darkness he could barely make out the outline of Dumbledore's tomb.

_Albus, am I doing the right thing? _

In his mind, he could see Albus peering at him over his fingertips, an enigmatic yet amiable smile playing around his mouth.

"_I would like to think so, Harry."_


	6. Epilogue

It was a glorious spring day. Harry walked unhurriedly, his tweed jacket slung casually over one shoulder and the sleeves of his Oxford shirt rolled up to elbow-length. His tie was loosened and his hair hung in a low ponytail.

He reached the wrought-iron gate and pushed it open gently, the low creaking of metal attracting only the attention of a nearby squirrel. As Harry walked, he did not look at the rows of tombstones on either side of him; he only looked forward.

He came to a fork in the path, where he paused, leaning heavily on his cane and massaging his upper leg. It wasn't much further, he knew, but he still had to brace himself before seeing the spot. He steadied himself once again, and took the left fork, passing a small grove of trees as he went.

Not a minute had gone by before he saw the one. Plain, grey granite, it gave barely a hint to the things the person sleeping beneath had accomplished and overcome. Harry laid down his cane and knelt before the stone.

**SEVERUS SNAPE**

**1960 – 1997**

Harry frowned at it. Snape deserved much more. He took out his wand, and with much concentration was able to etch more words below.

_Father, teacher, and hero_

_The bravest man I ever knew_

Harry paused. That would have to do. He stowed his wand in his back pocket and dug into his jacket. Finding what he wanted in the inside pocket, he extracted a single white rose. He laid it delicately on the Earth in front of the stone, then leaned back to admire the effect. _Severus would have liked it very much, _he thought.

He picked up his cane and struggled to his feet. He turned away, began to walk back to his car, but stopped abruptly.

A doe was silently grazing, partially hidden by the grove of trees he had seen earlier. She looked up at him, her ears twitching inquisitively. Harry smiled and continued walking. He neared the doe, and she took a cautious step back. Still walking, Harry spoke.

"You can go see him, if you like."

The doe watched guardedly as he passed. Harry followed the path, turning right at the fork, slowly disappearing from view. The doe looked after him for a moment.

Then she quietly stepped into the trees and was gone.


End file.
